


Dean's Drunk Kitchen

by cascountingfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bunker Fic, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Funny, M/M, Season 8, rompy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascountingfreckles/pseuds/cascountingfreckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's making dinner at the bunker when Cas drops in to give a helping hand. Things take a different turn when you add a bottle of whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean's Drunk Kitchen

 Dean huffed as he tugged the fridge open, searching for items rarely sought. His hand twitched with betrayal and regret as he passed leftover burger and instead reached for the bag of mixed greens shoved in the back with all of Sam's rabbit food. He tossed it onto the counter before grabbing a couple other items from the pantry.

He heard a door close from the other room.

"Good, you're back. Did you get—" He called out before he was interrupted by a gravelly voice rather than Sam's.

"Everything you require is here."

Dean turned around to watch Cas set a pair of plastic grocery bags on the counter next to the lettuce.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you again."

Cas's facial expression was formal as usual, regardless of the would-be warm greeting. Dean had known him long enough to know that the smile was implied.

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched humorously. No matter how many years passed, it seemed likely that Cas would never pass as a “normal” person. Hell, he hadn’t even passed for a “normal” angel. It was the big things that had made him seem un-angelic, but the little quirks that made him stand out now as a human: his lack of pop-cultural references that remained exponentially vast despite Dean’s best efforts, the intense staring, his loss at the concept of personal space. Made him seem like a socially awkward little nerd. Dean wouldn't admit it, but he kinda liked these things. They were—what would Dictionary-Sam call them?... _Endearing_. Plus they reminded him that although Cas was no longer an angel, he was still the same old Cas deep down. Even when he had started switching out the trench coat and suit for jeans and a button-up shirt—sometimes even one of Dean’s old plaids.

He let out a small chuckle and looked down.

“Yeah, it was good to see you _yesterday_ as well,” Dean replied with a feather’s touch of sarcasm.

"Did I miss something humorous?" Castiel tilted his head inquiringly.

He looked back up and slapped Cas on the shoulder.

"Nope, just...don't ever change," he said, walking around him to fetch the large mixing bowl.

"By the way, where's Sam?" Dean asked, "Why's he got you doing his chores when you’re supposed to be doing important angel stuff? Seemed pretty top-priority to you."

Dean shouldn’t have been surprised at Cas’s newest crusade. Castiel was always executing grand ventures to try to redeem whatever major blow-out he’d caused last. Still, Dean would have liked nothing more than for Cas to just take care of himself this once, but Cas was a stubborn son of a bitch even without his mojo. He would do all he could to track down and aid his fallen brethren one by one until he could find a way to Metadick himself.  All Dean could do was grumble about it like a five year old.

"I ran into Sam outside and he gave me a list of things to purchase from the store. He said he wanted to do some research and he'd be back late," Cas answered.

“What? Did he hit you with the freakin’ puppy eyes?” Dean had to admit the boy had a gift which was made even more impressive considering Sam’s gargantuan stature.

"He said it was...important to you." Cas replied seriously. “Although I hardly see the importance of avocados and mint leaves.”

Dean snorted, “It’s for a freakin’ salad. I’m making dinner. Speaking of, I guess this means Sam isn’t even planning on eating here."

“Yes, he did mention something about getting food at a bar.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean roughly plopped the pieces of avocado he’d finished cutting into the bowl. “He’s the one who demanded that I make something green for dinner for the both of us and now he’s a no-show?”

Cas shrugged in response and Dean shook his head before returning to his work.

Dean grumbled under his breath, mincing up the mint leaves and adding them to the bowl along with a splash of lemon juice. Castiel watched in silence, observing the muscles and sinews flex in Dean’s arm as he guided the knife in quick, efficient movements. It was probably the first time he had ever seen Dean use a knife without blood splattering everywhere.

“This is…surprising.” He finally stated.

Dean grunted questioningly.

“I didn’t know that you had skill in such a domestic area.”

Dean was usually proud of the cooking skills he rarely utilized and Cas’s compliment inspired a genuine satisfaction that made him want to smile against his will. At the same time, giving in would have made him feel like a girl blushing over a compliment on her prom dress. Also, there was the word choice which seemed to imply something less flattering.

“Domesticated? You make me sound like a freakin’ puppy. Thanks.”

Dean almost instantly regretted it when he managed to catch a slight pinch in his friend’s eye before he looked away, suddenly very interested in a crack on a cabinet door.

He had to say something else before Cas could do something stupid like apologize for trying to compliment him.

“Well, I guess I _was_ domesticated for a whole freakin’ year. You know, back when Sam…” Dean faltered slightly. It was masochistic of him to even bring that up, but Dean admittedly deserved a little slap on the ass from Lady Justice for being a dick just a moment ago.

“Oh right,” Castiel remembered, “When you were with Lisa and Ben.” He dropped his gaze, feeling guilty yet again.

“Yeah, she liked salads and this healthy crap,” Dean managed to reply casually, “so I learned how to make some that I could actually stand.

This one used to be her favorite,” Dean said softly, almost to himself, “although I guess she wouldn’t remember it now.”

He threw a forced laugh into the room instinctively. Anything to fill the silence that suddenly felt heavy and awkward.

Castiel cringed inwardly for even bringing up her name. He wasn’t sure what he disliked more; the possibility of it hurting Dean or the strange emotions he got when he thought of Dean in that happy life, where he himself had been so irrelevant.

“Hey Cas,” Dean brought Castiel out of his small reverie. “Be a doll and fetch me the unopened bottle in the top cupboard over there.”

Castiel raised his eyebrow at being referred to as a child’s play toy, but he chalked it up to some human colloquialism and proceeded to retrieve a large bottle of whiskey. He walked over to Dean and set it down close by.

Dean looked at it and smiled, cracking it open and taking a long swig. Then he thrust it back towards Cas.

“Here, have a drink.”

Castiel took it back and briefly contemplated the lip of the bottle and where it had just been. He felt a blush crawl into his cheeks as he hesitated slightly before bringing it to his own mouth. The whiskey slinked down his throat in a slow burn—a sensation he seemed to be experiencing often _without_ the consumption of alcohol.

He held the whiskey out to Dean, who reached for it without looking away from the bowl he was stirring. His hand accidentally brushed over Castiel’s before grasping the bottle.

Castiel let his hand drop to his side as he flexed it to try to rid it of the hot tingle. There it was again, the sensation that made no sense.

Dean took another swig like normal before putting the bottle onto the counter. Castiel’s eyes flickered over Dean’s body in an acute observation, searching unsuccessfully for any strange reactions. He often did this, but everytime ended with the same conclusion: he was the only one who seemed to be affected. Maybe his vessel was becoming defective.

Although, vessel wasn’t quite the correct term anymore. The original occupant had vacated a long time ago after the original vessel had been destroyed by Raphael when Castiel first rebelled, Jimmy’s soul rightfully gone to Heaven. The new vessel was just a replica recreated for his own use, as it was recreated again after Lucifer made it explode into tiny particles.

But it was his grace getting stolen from him that rang the final note, severing all connection he had to his wings, to his otherly powers, to Heaven; leaving him utterly and disorientingly human.

His body, not his vessel. That was the more accurate term.

Around that time was when Castiel first started noticing the strange physical reactions. It wasn’t their first appearance, but it had felt different—stronger, more concrete, more consuming. The symptoms often included a strange burning sensation, accelerated heart rate, and an abnormal tugging sensation in his core: a physical compulsion to do something about the sensations, to reach for or take. Recently, he had been tracking a pattern—connecting the dots, as Sam would say. They seemed to correlate with the presentation of the particular stimulus standing next to him. Castiel hadn’t managed to get any further in his “investigation”.

The mystery of it had started to bring anxiety, as it did currently, so he didn’t require prompting this time to grab the bottle and take another two, very long swigs. Anything to calm his racing heart.

Dean took a sideways glance at Cas, “Woah, Cas buddy. Remember you’re pretty much human now, and not a large one at that. You can’t drink as much as before,” Dean cautioned.

“Dean,” Cas retorted, “Don’t patronize me. I’m not some baby in a trench coat.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Dude, you gotta let that one go. It was a joke, I didn’t mean it.”

Castiel looked away resentfully.

 “Cas.”

Castiel looked back up and locked gazes with Dean, who had turned his full attention to him. Dean lifted his brow meaningfully.

Dean was a man of few words when it came to certain subjects—in particular, anything that might produce emotional intimacy or vulnerability. Castiel knew this—expected it.

Dean’s rule #1: _We’re not supposed to talk about it._

However, sometimes you could glean what he couldn’t say but still wanted you to know from little things he did or said.

This look meant, _I don’t think you’re weak_.

He let his mouth curve upwards slightly to show Dean he understood and that he appreciated it.

Dean’s return smile was bigger, one corner of his mouth dragging up more than the other. He winked, “Atta’ boy!”

Castiel’s heart thumped once. Fire flared in his cheeks, but that could easily just have been the alcohol kicking in. He’d forgotten that his stomach was also quite empty. It gurgled unpleasantly. Sleep, hunger…humans had so many things to manage just to keep their fragile bodies functioning. There was nothing to soften the effects of the alcohol which he could feel lifting restraints and doing other mischievous things to his mind.

Dean finished stirring everything in the bowl into a green puree. He dipped his finger in quickly and drew it to his mouth, testing the mixture for the right balance. He allowed himself a self-congratulatory grin before moving aside to grab the bag of lettuce. His hands were in position to rip the bag open when he caught a glimpse of Cas.

He was standing in front of the bowl where Dean had just stood, cheeks flushed against pale skin.

What had truly raptured Dean’s gaze was the long finger Cas had dragged through the thick mint avocado dressing and now held in front of his face in contemplation. Dean stared as Cas finally put his finger past his lips. It lingered there as he tasted all the flavors, eyes closing briefly.

Suddenly there was lettuce flying everywhere. Dean looked down and saw that he had opened the bag too forcefully while he had been…distracted.

“Sonuvabitch!” He exclaimed.

His eyes widened as uncontained laughter filled the room and his head whipped upwards towards the source.

Castiel could hardly help himself, loosened considerably by the whiskey  and highly amused by the sight of a petulant Dean surrounded by lettuce.

“Shut up!” Dean’s automatic response came first, embarrassment adding to the frustration.

If he didn’t have enough cool to open a bag of lettuce, he clearly needed to more to drink. The whiskey lapped down Dean’s greedy throat as he knocked back the entire remanents of the bottle.

His impressive retort just made Cas laugh harder, hunched over and clutching the counter for support as his whole body participated. Dean’s surliness crumbled and he started to chuckle alongside his friend, whom he had never heard laugh like this in his whole acquaintance. Also, the alcohol was all starting to crash down on him too.

“You’re drunk aren’t you?” He accused, leaning against the counter. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cas.”

Castiel stepped right up to Dean, his face less than a foot away, his balance sloppier due to the inebriation that sent him careening dangerously close to Dean. Dean thought sluggishly to try to lift his arms and steady Cas, who seemed one teeter shy of falling onto him. When Dean’s hands caught Cas’s waist, stilling the man’s forward movement, Dean tried not to question why they wanted to linger of their own volition, sliding slowly down before finally dropping into devoid air.

Cas’s eyes widened slightly in reaction, but he seemed to shake it off with a chuckle. Instead, he merely raised his hand and picked a piece of lettuce out of Dean’s hair.

“Well at least I’m not wearing what was supposed to be our dinner.” He retorted, still grinning.

“Well if you’re my dinner date for tonight, it’s only fair if you’re dressed to match.”

Cas cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

Dean just kept smiling as he reached into the mixing bowl and smeared some sauce onto Castiel’s cheek.

Cas’s  face went serious as he wiped it off with one hand. “Dean, I can’t believe you just did that.”

Dean’s smile faded as Cas’s eyes bored into his from a very close proximity. Fallen angel or not, he could still be intimidating; Dean’s body could hardly forget the number of times the deceptively smaller man had pinned him helplessly to a wall or kicked the shit out of him. It was not to say that he had enjoyed the pain, but he’d be lying to himself if it wasn’t sending his blood coursing at the mere _memory_ of his body being trapped beneath someone with that much power and ferocity, especially now with Cas  crowding him against the counter and blue eyes flashing in a tantalizingly similar echo. He felt his heart beating triple time. All of his body was aware of the small gap to Cas’s, the heat that radiated between them both. His hunter’s instincts screamed to widen the gap, to escape from this caged disadvantage, but something buried but potent like molten lava creeping miles below the surface wanted the space eliminated completely.

Cas leaned even closer to reach around his body and Dean felt his gut clench and flutter.

Thoughts and ideas flashed in Dean’s head in that moment that seemed to last minutes rather than seconds. He chased them away as soon as they came and let out a long breath of air, desparately trying to reign control over his body and it’s less than pure reaction.

Then Cas drew his hand back, this time gripping the bowl. A wicked smile spread slowly across his face as he brought the bowl above dean’s head and tipped it over.

Dean barely managed an “o” of shock before he felt the creamy contents trickle and seep into his skin. When Castiel had finally finished, his face smug, Dean looked up and smiled as green dripped from the tips of his hair and ran in trails down the curves of his neck.

If Castiel was expecting a punch in the face or some other swift and violent retribution littered with profanities, he was soon proven wrong by Dean’s too-good-natured-to-be-true expression.

“Come on, Cas buddy. Let’s stop all the fighting,” he said amiably. “Call it a truce.”

Castiel watched in a slow-building dread as Dean raised two open arms towards him.

“Come here, huggy bear!”

“Dean, no,” he pleaded, taking a step back and raising his hands in front of him.

“Oh yes, Cas.”

“Dean. Dean!” Castiel was helpless as Dean’s arms closed around him.

“Ugh,” he grimaced as he felt wetness seep through his shirt and onto his chest, pressed close against Dean’s.

“Mmm, feels so right,” Dean hummed jokingly into Castiel’s neck as he nuzzled his head all over the side of Castiel’s face and collar, wiping as much of the sauce onto him as possible.

 It was cold and hot at the same time, with Dean holding him so close. All of the strange symptoms cut through, or rather were amplified by the alcohol.

“Dean.”

He didn’t know how long he could withstand the sensations raging through him.

Finally instinct took over.

“Dean, enough,” he growled, whipping around and pinning Dean to the fridge.

Dean just laughed, too inebriated to take Cas seriously.

Castiel found it exceedingly annoying that he was clearly the only one experiencing these bizarre sensations.

“Shut up,” he snapped just inches away from Dean’s face.

Dean, impertinent as ever with a belly full of whiskey and not much else, merely matched Cas’s gaze and smiled.

“Make me,” he challenged.

They both fell silent except for their excited breaths which mingled in the very small space of air between their open mouths.

For a long second, Dean wondered what was going to happen next as his heart thudded inside his rib cage which was being crushed between the cold fridge and Cas’s warm torso. His eyes flickered down to Cas’s soft pink lips and his tongue darted out automatically to wet his own.

That was the moment when Castiel broke.

Dean felt Cas’s lips come crashing down on his, rough and demanding. He thanked the powers that be for the fact that he was drunk, all the thoughts and confusion that would have sent him running were trapped under a thick hazy blanket. He was completely free to do the things that had tiptoed through his mind lately, to respond with equal enthusiasm to the lips that moved wet and hot against his own.

Castiel’s hand tugged gently in his hair as the other pressed into the dip between his neck and shoulder. Dean’s own hands came to rest on Cas’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Dean found Castiel’s bottom lip and bit down, forcing a gasp out of that dizzying mouth he wanted to claim and consume— and with Cas’s lips parting between them, he took the opportunity to do so .

It was all warmth and tingles and the residual flavor of the whiskey Dean loved so much.

Finally they broke apart, hot air exchanging between their lungs as they tried to catch their breath.

“Dean—”

Cas’s voice was even rougher than his normal smoke-over-broken-glass tambour, and hearing his name in such a way—Dean cut him off from whatever was about to follow.

Castiel hardly noticed Dean removing his trench coat and his suit jacket, too distracted by their tongues sliding together and the sultry little noises Dean probably didn’t know he was making, until he found himself in just his white shirt and tie.

He broke away once more.

“Dean,” he panted, “I think we should—”

“Cas,” Dean growled, pushing him against the pantry cupboard and ignoring the crash of items rattling within it, “shut up.”

Dean took his mouth once more while removing the tie. It didn’t take him long, he had—after all—been the one to tie it in the first place. Once it was added to the collection on the floor, Dean’s mouth found the delicate skin on Cas’s neck, while his hand pried at his shirt collar. He licked, kissed, and nipped his way down to the little hollow space above his collar bone where he remained until Cas let out a rough moan and a small mark appeared.

Dean smiled wickedly knowing that he was no longer the only one with a mark on his body and their lips found each other’s once more.

Dean swore as his phone blared from within his pocket. He turned away from Cas as he brought it to his ear.

“Hey,”

“ _Hey yourself, Batman_ ,” Sam responded from across the wire. “ _Please tell me that you swallowed some glass and that you didn’t bring some chick home from some bar_.”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back to some semblance of normality.

“Did you have something to tell me, Sammy? Or did you just call because your sexually frustrated senses were tingling?”

“ _You’re hilarious, Dean._ ” Sam drawled.

“So _I’ve been doing some research on the pattern of the vics_ ,” Sam began, but Dean found the words lost beneath the wave of sensation from Cas’s vice-like hold on Dean’s hips as Castiel pulled him roughly backwards. If he found more of Castiel’s handprints imprinted onto his body the next day, so be it. The hard planes of the fallen angel’s body pressed up against his back both tenderly and possessively in a way that sent delicious shivers up Dean’s spine.

“We’re not finished, Dean.” Cas rumbled into his other ear, “who said you could answer that?”

“Bite me,” Dean replied, willing his knees not to give out as Cas nuzzled into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathed  in his scent.

“ _Dean, are you even listening? I said that the victims were all born in the month—”_

Cas chuckled.

“If that’s what you desire,” he said brushing his lips against Dean’s ear before giving it a hard nibble. Dean couldn’t hold back the low moan that dragged out of his throat as he sagged briefly into Cas.

“Damn it, Cas!” He swore, still trying to make out Sam’s jabbering over the phone.

“ _Dean, what the hell is going on?”_ Sam’s voice rose with irritation and bewilderment, “ _Did you just—What’s Cas doing?!”_

“Nothing! God!” Dean yelled into the phone, trying to extricate himself from Cas’s grip even though he didn’t really want to. “Look Sam, just give me the spark notes version or something.”

“ _Fine!_ ” Sam snapped. “ _Whatever.  I’ll just tell you in the morning. I still have a lot to figure out and since you’re no help, I’ll probably be here all night. So don’t wait up._ ”

“’Kay, bye.” Dean managed to grunt out while he still possessed some semblance of higher thought processing.

Dean shut the phone and all but slammed it onto the counter before turning around, grabbing Cas’s shirt.

“God, you’re so freakin’ pushy,” Dean growled, kissing him roughly and catching his lip between his teeth.

Dean finished once he felt Cas weaken against him with a moan, pushing him away and taking a step back from the debauched man—shirt half torn off, pale skin decorated by little marks blossoming along his neck, pupils blown against the piercing blue that would have severely contrasted with his bitten-red lips.

Castiel let himself be carried by the momentum, back thudding into the cupboard. He breathed heavily, his body felt like warm honey and his flushed face held a victorious smile, finding satisfaction in getting Dean so riled.

Dean turned his back to him, hands on his hips. If he kept looking at the way Cas’s dark hair shot in every direction that screamed of sex, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

He let out a sound of exasperation, “I need a freakin’ shower…I’m covered in avocado thanks to you.”

He sauntered out of the kitchen and disappearing around the corner towards the bathroom, but not before throwing a glance over his shoulder.

If Castiel thought his body was hot before, it blazed underneath the trail Dean’s eyes took. Every cell in his body wanted more. This couldn’t be ending right now, there had to be more. If anything, there was only build up, not release, not relief. The tug had turned into a pull stronger than the moon calling the tides. He wanted to call out to him, demand Dean’s hands on his body, Dean’s mouth on his skin. He wanted crushing, hot pressure everywhere. But what he wanted was already walking away.

A deep sigh passed Castiel’s slightly swollen lips as he walked into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, head in his hands.

Ten seconds later, Dean leaned around the corner.

“Cas! What the hell are you doing just sitting around? Aren’t you gonna help clean up your mess?”

Castiel took in Dean’s naked torso with hungry eyes, appreciating the hard lines and soft flesh that had a very light sheen of sweat. He chuckled when he saw the green sauce still clinging to his neck and his hair. Parts of Castiel stirred and his pants felt tight as he started imagining how the combination of salty sweat, avocado, and mint would flavor the surface of Dean’s skin if he were to run his tongue all over Dean’s body. He shook his head to clear the treacherous images before tilting it in confusion.

“Oh you mean the lettuce on the floor?” He asked, “I suppose I could—although _you_ spilled it, not me.”

Dean shook his head and walked determinedly towards him, grabbing his hand and hoisting him off the couch and out of the living room.

“But the kitchen is that way,” Castiel stated, pointing useless with his free hand.

Dean pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

“I meant _me_ ,” he smirked, reaching around and turning on the shower.

The remainder of Dean’s clothing landed on the floor in a careless thud, kicked aside as Dean stepped into the large glass stall slowly filling with steam without another word.

The corners of Castiel’s mouth rose slowly as his fingers popped open the first button of his shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> First ever destiel fan fic!  
> Beta'd by the Deangirl to my Casgirl, Selina.  
> Please rate/etc all that good stuff!  
> Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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